A Letter to a Friend
by The Wild Wild Whovian
Summary: The favorite villain of most fans of The Wild Wild West, I dare say, is the incomparable Dr Miguelito Loveless. The first few episodes featuring the little wizard are some of the best stories the series ever had, yet as time went on, the quality of the Loveless stories deteriorated badly. I offer here a letter Loveless might well have penned while musing upon this fact.


My dear, my cherished Antoinette, how I miss you! How keenly I feel the loss of you, boon companion! Ah, and how lacking, I now own, were those who came after you, those whom I had hoped would fill up the empty spaces in my life. But no. No, they would not do. They could not hold a candle to you, dear Antoinette!

No more sweet harmony, no harpsichord nor lute! What a fool I was to think that I could ever replace you. And yes, what a lot of blood-thirsty, small-minded helpmeets they were to me, one and all! For none of them — no, not one! — could appreciate the finesse of my mental jousting against that greatest of all mine enemies, Secret Service agent James West. No, the silly girls were all of them only too ready merely to take a gun and plug him. Ha! Only you, Antoinette, my precious, my delight, only you understood me, my trials, my plans, my dreams.

Ah, but how the mighty have fallen, my dear! As I look back over my most recent career, I wince as I think of how I have been reduced to luring my old enemy Mr West by playing the role of a ventriloquist dummy. Yes, and hiding myself within a circus, as if that were my only natural habitat! Debased to the level of petty vengeance, picking out six disparate enemies to lump together with that one constant pebble in my shoe, James West. And how I surrounded myself with buffoons for henchmen who knew no better than to all stand side by side under a net together to make it all the easier for West and his associate to defeat the lot of them!

Oh Antoinette, my days I fear are numbered. Where once I replicated a James West of my own making for the express purpose of destroying the Secret Service — where once I toyed with West's mind and drove him so deeply into madness as to have him believing he had shot down his great good friend Artemus Gordon in cold blood — yes, where once I traversed dimensions at the ringing of a bell! Ah, but now? Now I create a steam-powered puppet controlled by the music of an organ, only to find that I incorporated into its design a fatal flaw which Mr West exploited through means of one of his ever-present explosives. Worse, I have come to learn that mine was not the first steam-powered puppet West had ever faced, and that the previous set, crafted by some madman named Skull, were not only more numerous than mine but more elegantly designed!

And what is more, where once I eschewed alcoholic spirits as making a man less than human, I have lately degenerated to the point where my taste for a rare Napoleonic brandy, I find, was used by mine enemies as a breadcrumb trail, so to speak, to lead them straight to me!

No, I see it now: I have lost my touch. There was a time when my goals were lofty. A kingdom in which children could grow up strong and healthy in a world free from pain. A machine to project and receive voices and music through the air, bringing pleasure and enlightenment to countless thousands. Medicines derived from the lowly bread mold with which to conquer multitudes of illnesses. And marvelous machines of transportation, whether over roads without rails, or even through the air! Such great plans, such magnificent dreams! Yet what are my dreams of late? Naught but an obsession with besting James West once and for all.

This is not, I hasten to add, a contemptible goal by any means. To live my life without interference from that meddling Secret Service man — ah, that would be a little taste of Heaven on Earth, to be sure! But I have let him get under my skin to the point that I no longer remember my former projects. The whole of my life revolves around James West and my hatred of him.

No, such things ought not to be. For I am nothing less than brilliance personified, a virtuoso, a savant, whereas he, by comparison, is an ant, a mere insect, something to be flicked aside and regarded no more.

My life, in short, is not what once it was. And it seems to me that this great change in me can be traced back to a specific moment, my dear Antoinette — the moment when I lost you.

How I long to see you again, my dear! To see you, converse with you, create harmonies with you. You were my best friend, and I let you slip away from me.

Can you ever find it in your heart to forgive me, to welcome me again into your life, my dear? Is it possible for us to turn back the years and become once more what once we were, the dearest of companions, one heart and one soul together? Or am I dreaming now foolish dreams, reaching out with broken hands towards a radiant smile that will never again bestow its favor upon me?

Beloved Antoinette, take me back, I pray! Make me whole again with your sweet music, your fond touch, your loving laugh. Be again to me the helpmeet that once you were. For I have no doubt, my dear, but that with you at my side again I shall at long last conquer the Earth, as is my due!

With a full heart, I remain your most humble and devoted of servants,

Dr Miguelito Quixote Loveless, PhD, Genius


End file.
